


The Story of a Starry Night

by rixie_rhee



Series: In the Mood [6]
Category: Band of Brothers
Genre: Angst, F/M, Fluff, Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-23
Updated: 2018-02-23
Packaged: 2019-03-22 21:55:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,180
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13773366
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rixie_rhee/pseuds/rixie_rhee
Summary: Light spills from an open doorway half-way down the hall, both wavering lamplight from the unreliable electricity and the flickering that indicates a fire. Music floats down the hall as well. The horns are from a big band, but sweet and slow, nothing for lifts or trick steps. It’s the kind of music you’d want playing if you were trying to sneak off into dimly lit corners with your sweetheart.





	The Story of a Starry Night

It’s gloomy in the hall, bleak twilight that gives everything a grey cast. This house is both decrepit and richly decorated, all worn velvets and brocades in muted colors, greys and mossy greens offset with dusty blues, pinks, and golds. The lines are sturdy but still somehow graceful. There are ornamental touches, yes, but they’re subtle, not overly fussy. There’s no gold leaf in sight here.

Light spills from an open doorway half-way down the hall, both wavering lamplight from the unreliable electricity and the flickering that indicates a fire. Music floats down the hall as well. The horns are from a big band, but sweet and slow, nothing for lifts or trick steps. It’s the kind of music you’d want playing if you were trying to sneak off into dimly lit corners with your sweetheart.

Dick pauses in the hall, just outside of the light’s reach. He’s caught them in a private moment, but thankfully not one of _those_ private moments. He watches for a minute, not out of curiosity, but in simple amazement at what he sees in Nix. It’s been Dick and Nix, Nix and Dick for a long time; they’ve been in each other’s pockets since OCS. He’s seen Nix in nearly all his incantations: cheerful, sarcastic, caustic, suave, charming, angry, determined, petulant, expansive, full of dark humor, insecure, confident--and loving, too, just not like this, nothing this tender or vulnerable.

Nix and Rissy are moving together, in triple-step and she swivels, then Nix pulls her back in, so they’re closer than you would be out on a dance floor, but still moving, albeit languidly, until the song ends and a new one comes on. ‘At Last’ starts to play and Nix’s arms fold around her, one of his hands rests on the flare of her hip and the other cups her elbow, Rissy tucks her head into his shoulder and clasps her hands behind his neck; there’s no room between their bodies at all. The dance has become an embrace. Nix’s lazy smile is completely unguarded when he looks down at Rissy. She looks up and murmurs something in a rich, dulcet voice and Nix’s smile grows. When he bends to kiss Rissy, he cups her face and he brings his lips to hers. The little debacle from the other night has blown over.

Now that she’s leaving in a few days, they want all the time together they can get. It’s been hard since Bastogne; there hasn’t been time or a place for privacy, so they carve out pockets of time, taking advantage of any spare hours or empty rooms. Dick is loath to interrupt the little tableau, but he can’t linger out in the corridor anymore, either. He backs up a few steps and comes forward again, clearing his throat.

Nix breaks the kiss, looks up, smiles, happy and relaxed, no sign of glass filled with amber-colored liquid. Rissa turns and her mouth curves up invitingly, warmly.

“Sorry to interrupt,” he says, coming into the room. Funny how boots sound different in these houses. The sounds all seem muted, as if footsteps wouldn’t deign to be loud or disruptive.

“It’s fine,” Nix says, “What do you need?” He doesn’t let go of Rissa, though, on the contrary, he holds her closer. She turns in his arms and he embraces her from behind, his hands clasped over her belly. Her hands cover his, fingers entwining.

“I just need to talk to you, that’s all.”

“Alright.” He looks down at the girl in his arms. “You need to go back in a bit, right?”

“I really should, Lew.” She steps out of his arms. “I’ll give you two a minute.”

“Will this take long?”

“No.” Dick shakes his head. “Not long at all. It just can’t wait.”

“I’ll drive you back, Rissy. You shouldn’t be walking alone at night. It’s late and it’s too far.”

“I’ll wait for you.” She smiles at Dick as she walks past, squeezes his forearm. Dick likes her; she’s good for Nix, but more than that she’s just a good person. She and Nix suit each other, and anyone could have seen it, even way back before D-Day when it was all drills and training and she’d had more of an idea of what it would be like than they did. It’s nice to see, something good, something fine and almost pure in a way, even though Nix would scoff at that. Nix’s wife wouldn’t agree, to be sure, but maybe she isn’t blameless either.

Rissa leaves, shutting the door behind her, but not before sending a smile to Nix over her shoulder. Her dress is a deep lapis blue, she looks like she’s wrapped in a soft night sky, a summer evening over green fields that stretch out as far as the eye can see. Diaphanous white trim flutters at her elbows and throat, her tiny navy buttons set with something that sparkles. It must be the best dress she still has; it is quite careworn even so. The door latch catches with a soft snick.

Dick looks at Nix, who’s still watching the door with a residual grin on his face. When their eyes finally meet, Dick lets out a huff and cuffs his arm. “You’re so far gone, Nix.”

“Can’t help it.” His head shakes and a flush creeps up his cheeks. “I can’t help it any more than she can.”

And with that, Dick makes an agreeable little sound and then a huge exhale when Nix’s elbow digs into his ribs. Nix is slightly embarrassed to be caught like this, not twined with her in bed, but naked all the same, with shining eyes and love words dripping from his lips. And this is also good, that she’s gotten past Nix’s many-layered defenses right down to the core. It is reciprocal, though. She’d had a soft, sweet exterior and kept everyone at arm’s length at first, and Nix had breached that shell. She’s still soft and sweet the same way Nix is still charming and droll, only now there’s nothing defensive in it, well, most of the time. Enough of the time to matter.

But anyway, Dick’s burnished copper head and Nix’s dark one bow together over a map and other various papers. Their fingers look pale against the paper, no rings of grime under the nails or dirt ground into the knuckles. Dick listens to the cant of Nix’s voice, the easy French accent that lilts from his mouth, the R’s coming from far back in his throat. It would have sounded pretentious from anyone else, but Lew makes it sound natural.

They point, plan, strategize. Fingertips trace lines on the map and this conversation has its own kind of shorthand, only one must be perfectly clear when dealing with such planning. There’s no room for ambiguity when dealing with other men’s lives.

Nix is very good at his job. For all his love of creature comforts and fine things, wasn’t he out there, too, sleeping in a hole in the ground, cold and shivering right along with the rest of them? He didn’t have to be there, not all the time, not as much as he was. He’s dependable, decisive, and utterly fearless where his own life and limb are concerned. It’s only in the personal aspects that he’s insecure, although he does an excellent job of hiding it from everyone but his chosen few.

In the wavering light from the fire and the one pathetic lamp, Dick and Nix are engrossed in their work, at least until Rissy screams. Nix’s head snaps up and he casts Dick a glance before he strides across of the room and through the door at time-and-a-half. Dick is only a step or two behind him into the hall, then they’re both walking quickly, long strides rapidly eating space. This house has a lot of windows. The one at the end of the hall is huge and arched, nearly floor to ceiling, letting moonlight spill onto the thin carpet that must have been very pretty once, but now shows rents and boot prints.

Through the hall and the--sitting room? parlor? salon? Dick doesn’t know--and a dining room into the kitchen. Again, more lead-veined windows over the sink and counters, as well as a dead white enamel refrigerator and a huge gas stove. There is no electricity to the kitchen, but the stove still lights, a nice bonus to having four walls and a ceiling. Rissy is in the center of the room, stock still except for a fine tremor. The beam from her flashlight trembles erratically, throwing shadows. Movement catches everyone’s eye and a giant centipede, semi-transparent with quivering legs and antennae, scurries away from her feet when the men rush in with heavy footfalls.

Her nose is wrinkled in disgust. “I’m sorry. I wanted to see if there was water and I almost _stepped_ on it.” She’s in sock feet, her sensible shoes were left behind in the room she came from. She shakes her head. “It shouldn’t bother me; it’s stupid. But, oh, I hate bugs.” She starts to cry, hands over her eyes.

Nix steps forward, takes the flashlight from her hand and puts an arm around her shoulders. There’s a chuckle rumbling in his chest, he kisses her temple. “It’s okay. I hate those damn things, too.”

“Nobody likes them,” Dick adds. He's almost smiling, one corner of his mouth threatening to rise, although more out of relief than amusement.

“Are we done in there?” Nix addresses Dick over Rissa's head, still holding her to his chest protectively. That's when the flask makes its appearance, first for him, then for her, and then for him again. It disappears back into Nix's pocket without a sound.

“Yeah, close enough.”

And so the three go back. Dick settles on the sofa with Nix beside him and after moment Dick realizes that he should have maybe taken the chair, only he hadn’t been thinking. No matter, Rissy pulls the _fauteuil_ closer so it’s kitty-corner to the couch, and when she sits down, she’s close enough that Nix can scoop her feet up into his lap. Her socks are dark grey wool or cotton, hand-knit, and not expertly so.

“Sorry, again.”

“It’s alright.”

“It’s just that I hate them, and they scare me. They’re like tiny aliens.”

Nix’s hand curls around her foot to cradle one ankle. He caresses her great toe, traces the instep with one finger. When she moves to tuck her legs under her, Nix bends to unlace his boots. “It’s late,” he says to no one in particular, but his feet find their way to Rissy’s lap and she mimics his earlier actions. Nix’s eyes slip closed and he lets out a ghost of a sigh in appreciation.

“Must be nice.”

“It is.” Dark eyes open just a sliver and flick toward him. “You should try it. I told you, you need a girl.”

“I told _you_ , short supply.”

No one says anything at all for a while; the fire is dying to embers. No one is inclined to move, either. Finally, Dick rises to tend to it and Nix gets up, too.

Nix glances at his watch and groans. “Do you still want to go back?”

“No, but I should. If I stay with you, you know I’ll be late.”

Nix almost snorts. “You know me too well.”

“I know you don’t like to get out of bed.”

“Yeah, well, you don't like to, either.”

They could be saying two things, only they’re not. Simply, she does know that Nix loves his sleep, that he only swims up from the depths reluctantly, and he knows she is the same way, only slightly less so, but only in comparison and not by any virtue of hers. Still, it’s sweet, loving, almost wholesome. Again, Kathy Nixon wouldn’t agree, but maybe Rissy’s more of a wife to Nix than she ever was; certainly Nix is more of a husband to Rissy than he is to the woman he actually married. Is this wrong? Who can really say? Once upon a time, the answer would have been an unequivocal ‘yes,’ and it probably still would be if their affair was just about going to bed. That is not what it is, and these are not normal circumstances, and maybe that makes enough difference to change it from an affair to a love affair.

Rissy nods and yawns, Nix retrieves her shoes and kneels in front of her, cupping her heel and putting the decidedly sensible shoe on for her. Nix sits again, but only to pull his boots back on. He helps Rissy to her feet; she murmurs a good-night to Dick, Nix says he’ll be back soon.

There are bedrooms upstairs, but they’ll be cold, and it seems like too much trouble to go up there anyway. Better to be on the ground floor, just in case. Footfalls fade away down the poor trampled hallway carpet and Dick listens to their familiar voices that sound farther and farther away. The tones, the rise and fall, are audible, but not the words. It's comforting, like hearing your parents talk after they tucked you in when you were a kid. He settles back on the sofa, stretches out. The cushions are still warm. There’s even a blanket, and a grate in front of the fireplace so it’s safe to sleep.

In the foyer, Nix helps his girl into her coat before he shrugs into his. The fanlight and the narrow windows on either side of the door are also leaded glass, creating lined shadows in the cool blue light. Even outside, it is mostly quiet. The neighboring houses are widely spaced but not so far away as to be completely isolated.

Gravel crunches underfoot and Nix helps Rissa into the Jeep before he starts it. He turns to kiss her. It’s very cold, but again, he’s been to Bastogne and so has she, and this is not that kind of cold. He kisses her until she whispers that they’ll never leave unless they go now. Even in the stark light, her lips are red and slightly swollen and Nix knows his must be, too. They certainly sting in the frigid fingers of air now that the kissing is done.

The drive is only ten or so minutes, but Rissy is shivering in the open Jeep, despite her layers and her muffler and the pink mittens she knit herself.

Nix walks her to the door, rubbing her arms through the threadbare navy wool. She climbs the steps, stopping on the porch and twirling on her heel to face Nix. He’s a step below her, still taller than she is. He’d give her anything in his power to give.

“You need a new coat.”

Her face is in half-light here on the porch, then a cloud passes over the moon and she’s in silhouette, except for her eyes that reflect starlight. “I know, but where would I get one?”

“I would give you mine.” He would too, if he could. It’s a good coat, warm and sturdy.

“You can’t. Besides, you need it more than I do.”

“I’m going to find something for you, then.”

“You do that.” The words are dismissive, but her mouth is not and before long she’s leaning on him, pressed flush to him and the wool of her mittens is rough on the back of his neck.

“You better go on in.” Nix’s voice is slightly hoarse, that timbre that Rissy is well-acquainted with just starting to appear. She nods and looks up at him.

“I don’t want to let go.” Not right now and not in five days, is what she thinks and doesn’t say.

“Me either.” He’s thinking the same thing. Mittened hands cup her face, her hands are clasped behind Nix’s neck again, and for a little while neither one feels the chill at all.

“I love you.”

“I love you.” He doesn’t add a ‘too,’ saying it like he said it first, because it’s not just a response, it’s the truth. His hand rests on her back as she opens the door, presses there, but only a little, as if he’s guiding her inside. She turns, gives him an affectionate, indulgent smile, and what flashes through his mind is nonsensical:  hot fudge drizzled over vanilla ice cream, opposites, complimentary and sweet. The door shuts softly and he waits to hear the lock catch before he turns to leave.

The drive back seems much colder. Back at the house, which really must have been lovely, Nix finds a few half-decent blankets and enough pillows and cushions to make a meager nest on the floor. Dick is asleep, but Nix can see his eyes moving beneath their lids. Dick’s hands are relaxed, unclenched and there is no tension on his face, so a good dream then, hopefully. Nix takes one of his blankets and tucks it around his friend to stave off the chill that’s present even indoors. Then he arranges his things, loosens his bootlaces. After a moment he takes them off entirely. He stretches out, and in less than a minute, he is blissfully asleep.

In the morning, after washing with water that is not quite warm enough, he has an idea. Upstairs in the bedrooms, there are still clothes from the previous occupants in the closets. Not much, it has obviously been picked through, but still, one never knows. The closet in the master is enormous and nearly empty, but Nix has an idea of what he’s looking for. It would have been summer, maybe early fall when the owners left, and it may have been in a hurry.

At the very back, there is an invisible door. You wouldn’t know it was there if you didn’t know to look. Nix works it open and finds a cedar closet. There are empty hangers, yes, whoever lived here before thought to take winter clothing, but they did not take everything. A row of hatboxes lines the shelf, but he’s not concerned with those. No, there is a red ladies’ coat, but it won’t be warm enough and it’s too bright besides, a fur that is lovely but would be completely impractical, and a man’s camel hair overcoat. The man must have been quite thin and on the short side, but it’ll be roomy even so. It will cover her all the way down past her knees, almost to her ankles. She could get it altered in Paris if she’s so inclined, wrap herself in it and think of him.

Almost as an afterthought, he checks the dresses hanging limply from the bar under the shelf. No one will have any use for the gowns, but there are a few more sensible articles of clothing. He takes them all, telling himself it isn’t really stealing, and besides Rissy will know other girls who could use them, too. After all, all’s fair in love and war, and this is both.


End file.
